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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813280">Chess Not Checkers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacepeach/pseuds/lacepeach'>lacepeach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, Enemies to Lovers, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Jealousy, M/M, Obsessive Will Graham, Pining, Rating May Change, This will most likely change to E, Unrequited Love, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, nobody help will graham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:15:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacepeach/pseuds/lacepeach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Petrichor,’ Will’s mind supplied helpfully, the smell was petrichor. His olfactory memory brought him back to years past in the backwoods of port towns with his father, a simpler time that he felt safe referring to as a happy childhood. </p><p>The smell felt entirely inappropriate paired with the sight of Cassie Boyle’s newly decaying body.</p><p> </p><p>Will Graham might never be one step ahead of Hannibal Lecter, but he was only a half step behind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cassie Boyle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Lots of canon typical violence, but they'll get together eventually.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a clean smell in the air, the earth after rain, a field of grass, a forest in winter. It was a blank canvas that you didn’t want to touch, a vast expanse of nothingness, a feeling like no man had disturbed the peace and no man should. A smell that lacked the presence of anything but that fresh rain smell, not even the pollen of wildflowers or the smell of some shortly departed animal.</p><p>‘Petrichor,’ Will’s mind supplied helpfully, the smell was petrichor. His olfactory memory brought him back to years past in the backwoods of port towns with his father, a simpler time that he felt safe referring to as a happy childhood. </p><p>The smell felt entirely inappropriate paired with the sight of Cassie Boyle’s newly decaying body.</p><p>Pale skin stretched between the prongs of great antlers, flesh distorted between the sharp spikes and growing expanses of muscle clearly visible where a nearby group of birds had picked off the skin. </p><p>“SHIT!” Will’s eyes flicked over to Price, who had just scattered a handful of papers after attempting to shoo off the swarm of earth toned birds. Jack growled something after him while Zeller sheepishly helped gather the fallen papers. Beverly watched the interaction with a subtly bemused eye and Will took the distraction for the gift it was and slunk closer to Cassie Boyle’s body.</p><p>It was clear immediately that Cassie Boyle had not died on the stag. Her neck had tilted back to the ground at some point after rigor mortis had worn off, but even upside down her expression of shock and pain could not be mistaken for anything else. There was a thin, clean line cutting her from sternum to navel, where Price and Zeller had already discovered her lungs were missing from and Will quirked an eyebrow at the incredible prolonging of life Cassie had to have gone through. Working with an alive victim must’ve certainly been more difficult than working with a dead one, even just for the minute struggle the victim would’ve constantly been undergoing. The murderer was a sadist with no qualms about taking a slightly more difficult route to achieve what was needed.</p><p>The killer’s disregard for Cassie’s life and comfort aside, the body was relatively clean. Whatever blood had spilled out during the amputation was cleaned away after the fact, and the rest of her was clean too. Completely at odds with the horns poking through tissue and muscle, the tears caused by the shrikes and the hastily closed incision.</p><p>Will knelt by her head and ran a rubber gloved hand softly through the ends of her hair. She certainly looked like the other victims. Her straight brown locks would’ve fallen around her shoulders had she been right side up, and Will could easily imagine that she had been popular and happy in life, probably very health conscious and dedicated to taking care of her body, judging by the flawless skin and clear face. The missing lungs had probably been in excellent condition, as were the remaining organs. Despite this, her hair lacked shine and felt rough between his fingers. Probably scrubbed of stray blood just as the rest of her body had been, whatever product had been in there long gone now. </p><p>I take only what I want from you, I give nothing. I don’t care for you, you are a source of meat and a mode for my message. I cut you, but I will not bother putting you back together. I clean you up, for my own image. I am not a savage, I am advanced. There is no love here, that is not my design.</p><p>The Minnesota Shrike, though, had love.</p><p>Will closed his eyes and groaned.</p><p>“What is it?” Will startled slightly, at some point Jack had strode back over, a quick glance at his face showed that he was not in a patient mood, “Did you find something?”</p><p>Will’s eyes flickered, focusing on Jack’s chin, and inside his worn pockets his fingers fidgeted, “It’s a different killer.”</p><p>Jack’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>“It’s a different killer,” His gaze shifted over to Beverly Katz, who now stood back over Cassie’s body, taking pictures once more, “An intelligent psychopath. This is a one time deal, he may never kill this way again.”</p><p>“The victim matches the pattern. It’s the same murder weapon for crying out loud!” Jack’s voice rose until it thundered across the field, the agents milling around too used to the sign to pay much attention to it. Will flinched.</p><p>“But a different killer.”</p><p>After one last glare, Jack walked back to Price and Zeller for any updates. Will dropped his gaze and walked back over to his car, slipping his glasses off as he moved and rubbing absentmindedly at his temples. </p><p>Unlocking the driver's seat door, Will quickly peeled off the gloves and tossed them into an empty McDonald’s bag in the back seat, before taking off his jacket and laying it on the seat next to him. Reaching into the glove compartment, a small bottle of aspirin was removed and in a matter of seconds a small handful had been swallowed, warnings on the label completely ignored. The bottle was replaced and a second bottle was pulled out, this one also labelled aspirin, but with the expiration date much sooner. </p><p>A quick shake confirmed that the bottle was completely empty, and after twisting the top off, Will reached across the console into his jacket pocket and withdrew a lock of Cassie Boyle’s hair, quickly depositing it into the aspirin bottle and tossing it back into the glove compartment, where it clanged against a variety of other, differently branded aspirin bottles. A quick glance through the windshield showed that the crew were still entirely invested in processing the crime scene and Will let his shoulders relax.</p><p>He reached over to shut the glove compartment, but not before shooting the bottle a warm grin. Chuckling to himself, he started the engine and began pulling out of the field, shaking his head fondly at the crime scene he was leaving.</p><p>‘Goddamnit, Hannibal.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hannibal is understood.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“My sincerest apologies William, I did not realize this would be an ambush.”</p><p>“What, in God’s name, did you think it was then? A friendly meet and greet? Did you think the mentally unhinged criminal profiler Jack asked you to see was simply crying out for help?”</p><p>“That’s enough, Will,” Jack leveled a glare across the desk and Will let his gaze fall to the table between them. Rough hands clenched around his armrests and he felt as if a growl was about to rip from his throat at any point. </p><p>This was complete bullshit.</p><p>“I’m already doing you a favor, Jack” Will let out carefully, “You shouldn’t add to that.”</p><p>“You need help, Will. Dr. Lecter can give you that.”</p><p>Dr. Lecter. Oh yes.  If Jack was going to go out of his way to exploit Jack’s little ‘gift’, he couldn’t exactly be mad at Will for using it himself.</p><p>The man next to Will was the perfect picture of poise and manners, a gentle smile on his lips and friendly crinkles lining his eyes. He wore a three piece suit (in the middle of a Thursday?) with the most garring pattern Will had ever seen outside of a magazine, and perfectly gelled, asymmetrical hair. His smile had only widened fractionally at Will’s quick remark, but he stayed quiet throughout Jack’s intervention.</p><p>It was quite clear the man was a fucking psychopath.</p><p>“Perfect manner” aside, the guy stunk of self righteousness. Jack might’ve been a horrible judge of character, but he was demanding enough to usually end up with the best of the best. The smugness was earned, the fact that it was hidden so well was almost intriguing then. Was it seriously because of propriety's sake?</p><p>Will risked eye contact for a moment. No.</p><p>Politeness was given for… whatever’s sake, but this man was dangerous. The manufactured warmth in his eyes was just that (but how remarkably accurate…), but behind  that was something almost reptilian, looking him over in turn with cold efficiency, and inhuman hunger. </p><p>A killer then. Will narrowed his eyes at the man’s dimpled chin. A socialite killer. As if he’d never heard that one. His eyes drifted away and he found himself following the lines of his beige and plaid shirt.</p><p>“Not fond of eye contact.”</p><p>Will huffed and allowed himself to focus on the man’s nose, “You don’t see enough,” He allowed a casual shrug of his shoulders, “You see too much.” He decided to leave it at that.</p><p>There’s a charged moment between the two and Will distantly hears Jack asking if that’s not a bit dramatic.</p><p>“Yes. I can see that for you,” Dr. Lecter leans to the side with a mischievous grin, eyes never leaving Wills and grasps his mug of by-now-cold coffee, “I imagine what you see and touch effects every corner of your mind, leaching into dreams and warping the memory of loved ones. I can see why a man with a gift such as yourself might endeavor to learn as little as possible.”</p><p>Blue eyes narrow minutely in turn. It’s as blatant a response as he will get, given the circumstances.</p><p>“Well, let’s not be too hasty.” Jack leans forward in turn now and all attention is on him for perhaps the first time since the meeting has begun, “There’s no need for Will to “learn as little as possible” as you put it, Doctor.” Now this is interesting, Will thinks, he’s never seen Jack try to arbitrate with someone else’s opinion, “The point of this meeting is to give him the support he needs in order to help out the FBI.” Though there are three people in the room, Will is distinctly aware this conversation is only between two of them. “To save lives.” Jack stresses.</p><p>Will is caught in between feeling insulted and feeling nothing at all. Jack had made only the barest possible effort to make Will feel like he wasn’t just some tool for law enforcement to use, so this wasn’t surprising in the least. It wasn’t often however, that people were rude enough to talk about him as if he weren’t there directly to his face. Usually this level of rudeness was deployed by him.</p><p>“I’ve heard enough, and on top of that I have a lecture to give.” Will stands abruptly and begins making his way to the door. Jack sputtered indignantly behind him and may have demanded he come back, but he was already out the door before anything could truly reach him, heavy door swinging shut behind him and echoing loudly around the empty hall.</p><p>Dr. Lecter may hide behind his gentlemanly facade, but Will Graham liked to think of himself as a man of action, with propriety out the window. He was more than happy to help out the FBI, not for any noble reasons, but he wasn’t about to sit still for god knows how long and let some second rate, cookie cutter killer try to drill holes in his brain. Jack wanted him on that team, and what Jack wanted he demanded, and what he demanded he got. There was absolutely no reason to pretend to give  a damn about his mental health.</p><p>Reaching his car, Will rifled in his bag with confusion.</p><p>His keys were gone.</p><p>Patting down his jeans brought zero returns as well, and after another quick dig in his bag he became aware of an approaching figure and finally heard the jingle of keys. Looking up, his stomach dropped.</p><p>‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’</p><p>Hannibal Lecter was making long strides across the parking lot. His stupid visitor’s badge and Will’s car key’s flashing in the midday sunlight. It also glinted off the man’s teeth, which were showing through his annoying little smile.</p><p>“I believe you dropped these.”</p><p>‘I believe I didn’t.”</p><p>“Thanks.” He opted for instead, holding his palm out so the other man had to drop them into his open palm.</p><p>Dr. Lecter smiled indulgently and obliged, but his eyes flashed dangerously once more.</p><p>“Fate seems to have brought us together once more,” His eyes shined, and Will returned his attention to unlocking his car, “I’d like to once more apologize for the unexpected ambush inside.”</p><p>Will grunted and tossed his bag into the back seat. </p><p>Dr. Lecter continued once more, strained this time, “While I understand your hesitancy to undergo therapy, I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you my open door, after all the stress I’ve put you under today.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Will smiled when he could practically feel Lecter still glowering at his turned back.</p><p>“Until we meet again, Will.” The rhythmic tapping of expensive shoes on concrete signalled his departure.</p><p>Sliding into the front seat of his beat up green Toyota Corolla, Will let out a frustrated sigh and started the engine.</p><p>Then turned it off. </p><p>Through the windshield, Dr. Lecter was still clearly visible, though much smaller now since he had crossed a good deal of distance since saying goodbye to Will, presumably heading towards his own car.</p><p>Will stared and slid the glasses off his face, rubbing absentmindedly at the indentations left by the arms. He most certainly had not dropped his keys. Thinking back on it, he was sure that he had also not left his bag alone. </p><p>For one brief minute at the beginning of the meeting, Will had stood up and strode over to the wall of missing girls, mulling on the motivations of the killer, the link between the victims. It had only been a moment, and though both Jack and Hannibal had been paying rapt attention at the time, he’s certain he would’ve noticed the jingle of his keys leaving the bag. </p><p>But truly, there was no reason for Hannibal to take the keys at that time.</p><p>The meeting had not yet gone sour and Will had not yet expressed his disdain in seeing Hannibal there, so what reason would he have had to try and foster a second, more private meeting?</p><p>The halls of Quantico were long and tiled with linoleum, they’d been completely empty when Will stormed out and his own footsteps had bounced around the space. The doors weren’t well oiled and there were really only a couple of ways to get from Jack Crawford’s office out to the parking lot. Hannibal had shown up very quickly after Will discovered his missing keys. </p><p>How had he not heard him coming?</p><p>Will leaned forward in his seat and felt his lips twitch, still staring intently at the place where Hannibal had disappeared off to.</p><p>The parking lot meeting was one predator bating the other. An interaction only necessary after Will’s subtle acknowledgement in the office. The keys therefore had to have been taken after the fact, and Hannibal must’ve left Jack at the perfect time; not too soon after Will that he would notice himself being followed, and not too stealthily as to arouse the suspicion of Agent Crawford. He had hit the sweet spot exactly.</p><p>His heart rate picked up. Not just a killer then.</p><p>The word left his mouth as a soft exhale, “Dangerous.” Elation filled him.</p><p>Finally.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Artemis and the Wood Nymphs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Will looks back.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Will was 14, there was a serial killer loose in Deep River.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Near a port town in Connecticut, Will’s father Charles had stopped shop for a month in order to get work fixing boat motors and helping fishermen, his usual reason for settling down for a season. Will was relegated to helping clean catches and finding useful parts for his father in a nearby junkyard, his experience around boat engines waylaid by his trouble with fine motor skills. It hadn’t been a big problem, especially considering Will had no intention of following in his father’s footsteps, and no particular motivation to spend all day out in the summer humidity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His interest in helping Charles dwindled even further when a pair of tourists were found off of a main highway, chopped up with an ax and hidden in the trees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Days were spent splitting his commute between an old dump to find helpful pieces of scrap metal, and going to a local newsstand to see who had been killed that day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kills were found on a semi regular basis, at least one a week on average, and local cops were stumped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Young Will was left breathless. Fear and excitement dogged his every step.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only thing connecting the murders was the fact that they were all out-of-towners, and there was evidence of sexual abuse but any DNA found could not be matched to anyone in the local database. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kills were only occurring in Deep River, and it took two months for Charles Graham to catch wind of them where he spent most of his days in a shed in nearby Old Saybrook. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now I know you young people may think you’re invincible,” He had said gruffly over a dinner of fried perch, “But you’re not. Stay inside from now on, I don’t need you running around attracting the attention of this lunatic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, despite Will ignoring his father’s orders, it turned out they were useless after all. At 8:53 PM on a Thursday in September, Garrett Myers crept around the backdoor of the Graham’s little cabin in the woods and kicked the door open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will, who had heard Myers on the squeaky porch, crept around the house avoiding the ax-wielding maniac, before finally managing to push him down the stairs into the family’s completely empty basement and barricade the door after him. Charles owned a gun that was kept above the mantle, and a warning shot was fired through the door as Myers attempted to break through it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a quick call to the local police department, Myers was apprehended without issue. </span>
  <span>Will was disappointed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myers had simply held a lingering hate towards newcomers, and when the tourist season ended, he had gotten too bold for his limited skill set. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles Graham was very proud of his son and even the mayor congratulated him at one point, but Will shrugged the praise off. Myers might’ve been a killer, but one so easily cowed, so easily stopped by an average 14 year old boy? He was not dangerous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Relooking over the old newspapers Will felt derision for his younger self. Scared of a man who operated purely off the element of surprise and an average amount of strength. There was nothing special about this. The local police could’ve caught the man easily if they had bothered to put in a little effort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they left Deep River a week later, Will left the newspapers in a crumpled ball at the bottom of the Connecticut River.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten years ago, another couple was discovered ax murdered in a forest in Connecticut. This time, Will discovered the murder while reading the newspaper at his breakfast table in Louisiana.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories of a 14 year old boy, obsessed with murder and intoxicated by fear rose to the forefront of his mind, and he had squirmed anxiously in his seat. While Garrett Myers had been a disappointment to his younger self, Will still appreciated the feeling Mr. Myers had provided, and this new murder was enough to stir up those old feelings again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A young lady lay propped up against a tree, looking as if she were stumbling back in shock. A thick cut bloomed on her naked shoulder, crimson blood still looked as if it were spilling from the old wound and one stay drop had made it all the way down to her elbow before drying up. Closing his eyes, Will could see the shining gleam of the blood as if it were fresh, though in the newspaper provided photo it looked dry and tacky. More important than that however, a shiny new ax was embedded in her chest through the gauzy linen that was wrapped tightly around her now pale body. An older woman stood above her, the cause of death not clear, but her cold hands were wrapped around the handle of the ax, a piece of golden ribbon wrapped around her upper arm to act as a cuff, and her naked breasts on display. Various other gauzy robes lay in puddles surrounding them. An old bow lay discarded two feet from the scene. A peculiar stone ledge in the background gave it away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a quick google search from his old phone Will came up with an answer; Artemis Among the Wood Nymphs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A semi famous painting depicting the goddess Artemis surrounded by playful nymphs, the warping of the painting only drew Will further into the mystery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another quick search showed that Jodi Banebridge was a leading official in forest conservation, and had just purchased a new Mercedes around the same time a large portion of the Roosevelt State Forest was slated to be cut down. Her wife, a younger woman, had filed for divorce recently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Interesting. It was artistry. But that was all. He went on with his breakfast and was out the door for his new police job on time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three months later a man was found without feet on a bench wearing a ridiculously old fashioned, but incredibly expensive, Victorian era coat. His hair was immaculate and he had a polished, wooden pipe in his mouth. The pockets of his stunning outfit were filled with wallets, watches, receipts and money and his teeth, gums and tongue were smeared with tobacco. His cut off feet were found in a nearby trash can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Repeated searches could tell Will nothing more about the man, Arthur Dunn, or whatever scene the killer was trying to set.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his ongoing search, Will did discover that a later autopsy showed that Mr. Dunn had large strips of flesh missing from his back. On a hunch, he looked at a later report of Jodi Banebridge and discovered that her liver was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arthur Dunn, unlike Jodi Banebridge, was not a hypocrite and not a sellout, he had lived a meager existence working at a tax office, and hadn’t been under any kind of suspicion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Very </span>
  </em>
  <span>interesting. Was this some kind of sick vigilante killer? Perhaps a man wronged by his tax accountant, seeking the ultimate punishment? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what was with the feet?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since then Will had taken to clipping news articles about the so called “Chesapeake Ripper”.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Driving back home, Will decided it was once again time to look over those news clippings.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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